2025 didn’t ease in or let go softly. It was sharp in places. It shifted the ground under my feet in ways I didn’t ask for and couldn’t fully prepare for. It was a year that demanded growth before I felt ready, growth that wasn’t always graceful, but real.

There were days that felt heavy before they even began. Days where showing up looked less like ambition and more like endurance. But there were also moments of real momentum. Milestones reached. Work I’m proud of. Wins that, on paper and to those looking in were the highest achievements, and yet even in those high points, I found myself quietly wondering what more I could do. If I could sustain what I had built. If strength was supposed to feel like more of an arrival than this.

Somewhere in between achievement and uncertainty were the small moments that kept me human. A little too much champagne. A girls weekend screaming Jonas Brothers lyrics at the top of my lungs with best friends. Laughing at myself for thinking I could white knuckle my way through everything without ever needing a pause. Growth, it turns out, is rarely linear and often requires questioning everything, filtering the noise, and bringing yourself back to the people who remind you who you are.

Not every year gets to be labeled great. Some years are simply formative. Some years don’t sparkle in hindsight, they teach through friction. 2025 was that kind of year, one that held accomplishment and self doubt at the same time. One that has glittery chapters, and one that had me questioning what the next page was going to start with.

It asked me to let go of versions of myself that no longer fit, even when I wasn’t done loving them. It fractured assumptions and routines, forcing me to look at what was real versus what was familiar. But it also clarified what matters. It showed me that I can’t carry it all and setting some things down or that needing support doesn’t make strength any less valid. You can be capable and still need help. You can lead and still lean.

And still, there was laughter. There was love that stayed and grew. There were people who showed up in quiet, necessary ways. There was strength I didn’t know I had until I felt myself reaching for it, and allowing others to meet me there. There were moments where the most productive thing I did was laugh, reset, and try again the next day.

I found pieces of myself in the hard parts. The grounded ones. The scary and honest ones. The ones that don’t perform well on social media, or let alone even get posted. Pain has a way of refining you if you let it, of stripping things down to what’s essential. 2025 did that. It reminded me that resilience doesn’t mean facing it alone, and that sometimes survival looks suspiciously like joy in disguise.

As 2025 closed, there’s a temptation to wrap it up neatly. To declare a reset. To brand a new beginning. But the truth is, a new year is a manufactured milestone. A calendar flip doesn’t absolve the past or guarantee the future. Every day, ordinary and unnamed, is the real gift.

So instead of resolutions or declarations, I’m carrying forward what this year taught me. I’m going to find my creativity again and to write even when it’s imperfect. I’m choosing to sit comfortably in silence instead of chasing noise. I’m prioritizing friendships and time outdoors and travel that inspires me rather than exhausts. I’m going to continue to give as much as I can to others but know that doesn’t mean I’m losing myself to do so. I’m reading more books, drinking more champagne because, obviously, and keeping authenticity close, even when it’s inconvenient. Not because a new year demands it, but because the learning did.

Hope doesn’t come from a date. It comes from staying. From choosing to keep going with a little more softness, a little more humor, and a deeper trust in myself than I had before.

And that feels like enough. Happy New Year, y’all xx